The Vietnam Soldier The soldier was weary and tired, his body was drenched with sweat His face was splattered with blood, of comrades he could not forget. His feet were tired and bleeding, from walking so many miles in the filthy rotting jungle that kept him from resting for a while. He paused to listen for a moment, only slightly turning his head He heard a noise a noise from the jungle and his heart leaped in sickening dread. He swung his rifle around as the enemy rushed him to kill He fired his gun in terror and the enemy lay there - still. He walked over to the body and turning it over to stare into the face of a little child  whose only fault was to be there. The soldier cried out in pain when he saw what he had done, And the anguish that tore at his at his heart was something he could not shun. Lord "He said, I can't stand this living hell anymore" As he sat by the body and cried. A shot rang out in the silence And the soldier leaned over and died. by Virginia Horne Walker